As Alan's sword was about to slash across the neck of the lead guard, Annie appeared in front of him, intercepting the blow.
"Alan, Monk Overseer doesn't know the full story. He believes you intruded upon his deluxe room, but I'm negotiating with him. I promise you'll be given a fair explanation," she said sternly. "If you kill a Church guard, no one will be able to protect you. Don't act impulsively!"
Around them, the onlookers watched Alan with astonishment.
The Church of Steam and Magic was notoriously ruthless; anyone daring to kill one of their guards would face relentless retaliation.
Without Annie's intervention, Alan might very well have taken out the guards before him.
"Don't worry, I'll immediately arrange for a healing mage to tend to your sister. She'll be fine," Annie continued, seeing that Alan's murderous intent had not yet faded.
Alan glared at her coldly. "You're stepping in to stop me now? Where were you when my sister was being beaten? You're the one who put us in the deluxe room, weren't you?"
"This isn't over between us. But these people who hurt my sister… they will die!" His words, cold as ice, carried the weight of death itself.
Annie shuddered, momentarily caught off guard by the chilling determination in his gaze.
The Church guards, who had just begun to relax, felt their anxiety surge once more.
Even high-level mages rarely dared to hold murderous intent toward them, given that they represented the authority of the Church itself.
But Alan was different; the killing intent radiating from him was as cold and unfeeling as a winter storm, leaving them with a deep, unsettling dread.
In a flash, the panicked guards unleashed their magic energy in response, releasing clusters of elemental light that merged together to form a Toxic Marsh Formation.
The air thickened around them, filling with a dark, sticky fog that clashed with Alan's flaming sword as he charged.
Alan's strike was fierce, a blazing arc of flame searing through the air, hissing as it collided with the toxic fumes.
Each guard contributing to the formation felt their magic energy draining rapidly, their faces turning pale with fear.
The Toxic Marsh Formation, created by over thirty guards working together, would typically take even a mid-tier bronze mage some time to break through.
Yet under the force of Alan's single sword strike, the guards had lost most of their mana in an instant. His combat power was terrifying.
Could he truly be just a tier-iron mage?
While they were still reeling, Alan slashed again, tearing through the dark shield.
A golden-red streak of sword energy, blazing with the intensity of molten iron, ripped forward.
This time, his strike combined not only fire but also the sharpness of the metal element.
Splat!
Already drained from the previous attack, the guards struggled to maintain the shattered formation. Alan's sword energy hit them full force, sending them flying backward, coughing blood and collapsing in exhaustion.
As the guards lay writhing in pain, the light-armored knight Alan had wounded earlier recovered enough to glare at him with twisted rage.
As the squad leader, to suffer such humiliation was unbearable—killing Alan was the only way to restore his honor.
The knight downed a vial of blood-red potion, his gaze fixed on Alan, his voice as chilling as a whisper from hell.
"Forcing me to use my secret potion… You'll be the first to feel what it means to wish for death over life!"
As soon as he spoke, his bones began to crack and expand, his aura surging to the level of a late-stage tier-bronze mage.
Those watching nearby, initially intrigued by the scene, began to back away in fear.
The aura emanating from the knight was thick with danger, far stronger than before.
But even as his power intensified, Alan reached him first, slashing down at his right leg.
Slash!
Before the knight could react, blood spurted from his leg, which was severed in a single strike. Smoke rose from the cauterized wound, filling the air with a distinct, burnt smell.
"Aaagh!" The knight's face contorted in agony, his body staggering backward as waves of excruciating pain washed over him.
"You're dead!" he screamed. "The Overseer is here!"
"You and your pathetic sister will be burned alive! No one can save you!"
His twisted voice echoed across the deck, his words laced with madness.
The crowd, many of them high-ranking nobles, watched Alan in shock.
He had dared to injure so many guards of the Church, and now he faced down the squad leader, filled with an unrelenting killing intent they could all feel.
In a swift motion, ignoring the gasps of the onlookers, Alan brought his sword down on the knight, severing his head in one clean stroke.
The crowd fell silent, stunned. Killing a member of the Church of Steam and Magic—even a minor leader—would lead to unending consequences.
The Church would pursue this with merciless retribution.
At that moment, an elder dressed in a tailcoat, staff in hand, appeared on the deck.
It was Monk Overseer, his eyes burning with fury as he glared at Alan.
"Do you have any idea who that was? He was one of my people! You must have a death wish!" he roared, seething at the audacity of Alan's actions.
The Overseer had never expected anyone to dare lay a hand on his subordinates, especially not in broad daylight.
His reputation would be shattered if he did not bring swift retribution.
"Distinguished guests," he said, struggling to contain his fury, "I must ask you all to leave. There's private business to handle here."
The nobles glanced at Monk, nodding politely before departing.
Despite their high status, none of them wanted to meddle in matters involving the Church, especially not with a high-ranking Overseer like Monk.
As the nobles withdrew, Carter and his father paused to offer Isabella a healing potion, helping to stop the bleeding on her injured hands before quietly departing.
With the onlookers gone, the vast deck was left cold and silent.
Only the Church guards remained, surrounding Alan with hostile stares.
Alan cast a brief glance at Annie, then focused his attention on Monk Overseer.
The aura radiating from the Overseer was overwhelmingly powerful, the oppressive energy of a late-stage tier-gold mage.
A tier-gold mage of this level was an insurmountable foe for Alan in his current state.
As Alan assessed his opponent, Monk stared him down with disdain, his voice laced with icy contempt.
"So, you were pushed out here by Annie to vex me. I imagine you must have some backing to act so boldly. Tell me, and perhaps I'll go easy on you."
Alan's gaze swept over Annie and Monk, his tone cold as he replied, "What's this? Without background or influence, you don't even consider me worthy of being a pawn?"
Though he wished he had some powerful support, in truth, he had only his sister, and no one else to back him.
"No background?" Monk's sneer deepened, his voice dripping with contempt. "Without backing, you dare to strike against my people—against the Church?"
Alan stared back defiantly. "Your men attacked my sister. If I strike back, what's there to fear?"
He knew well the might and terror of the Church of Steam and Magic, a power that loomed large over the Plantagenet Kingdom. But that didn't matter.
If they dared lay a hand on his sister, he would show no mercy. His sister was his untouchable line.
"Kid, didn't anyone teach you? Out in the world, without influence or power, you should keep your head down," Monk's voice grew colder and more menacing with each word.